


It's not beautiful... it's empty.

by vexmybones



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Character Death, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Not Beta Read, Tissue Warning, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexmybones/pseuds/vexmybones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'When he gets to the end he laughs out loud and it’s an ugly sound. Of course. Of fucking course Steve would.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not beautiful... it's empty.

i.

 

It’s been sixty two days.

The silence that was once deafening has become a comfort. The fridge and pantry shelves are bare, save for the alcohol and Steve’s favorite crackers. The counters that used to smell of cleaner and were clean enough to eat off of are now cluttered with takeaway boxes and an apocalyptic desert of empty beer bottles. Sam took the dog after the second week when Bucky got blackout drunk and forgot to feed it for three days. The laundry is the only thing that gets done religiously. He won’t touch Steve’s side of the closet.

 

*

 

“ _How many pairs of jeans do you own? Seriously, Buck,” Steve eyed the walk-in closet before backing out to question his new roommate._

_“Tell me how many pairs of grandpa khakis you own, Stevie. How many flannels?” His head poked up from across the bed frame he was putting together with an arched brow and a screw stuck into the corner of his mouth._

_“I thought you liked the way I dressed?!” Steve sounded wounded and his face was taking on that kicked puppy dog look._

_“Aw, don’t give me that face,” Bucky unfolded from the floor with the crack of a bone or two and plucked the screw from his mouth. He stepped across the empty frame toward his idiot of a boyfriend and tugged at the hem of the blue flannel he was sporting. He was playing right into the punk’s hands but he didn’t care. “You know I love everything about you… except when you take stupid risks. And you’re a cover hog. And you actually like getting up_ early _,” He fakes a head-to-toe shudder and his hands slide under the flannel to lazily trail up Steve’s torso. “Oh, and you never let me have the remote. Remind me why I’m letting you move in with me again?”_

_“You’re a real jerk, I’m not so sure_ I _remember anymore myself,” he says but it’s with a smile and Bucky’s breath catches in his lungs when Steve pulls him flush against his warm frame. His lips are soft, his hands are sure, and Bucky falls just a little more._

 

ii.

 

It’s been eighty seven days.

He only goes out because Natasha and Clint threatened to have his power and water turned off. He wouldn’t put it past them. The music is loud and makes his head throb. He needs another drink. They try to get him out on the dance floor but his bored, yet slightly menacing stare is patented. Leaving him at the table he watches them go. They dance together like it’s been choreographed beforehand and he knocks back his chair in his hurry to stand. He can’t escape fast enough.

 

*

 

_The furniture has been moved, jammed into the kitchen and up against the windows. Darcy controls the music from Steve’s ratty secondhand chair in the corner and Sam is perched on the arm of the couch laughing. This is a train wreck and Bucky is the disgruntled conductor._

_“No, no, NO! Left foot first,” he sighs and tightens his hold on the huge five year old, seriously that’s what Steve’s acting like right now. “It isn’t that hard. Come on okay, once more.” At least he looks a little remorseful at Bucky’s tone._

_Darcy hits play again and a waltz comes to life in their living room. Steve watches Bucky’s feet for a full three turns before he drags his eyes up to meet Bucky’s. His smile is blinding when Bucky squeezes his shoulder in reassurance. He’s momentarily stunned like he always is and his own feet fumble. The room erupts into laughter but Bucky ignores them and leans into Steve to kiss that stupid smile right off his face. The music plays on._

 

iii.

 

It’s been one hundred and thirty nine days.

He wakes up on a dirty couch, in a room where the walls are yellowed from nicotine, and the place smells of chemicals and piss. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t care. His phone is dead, he’s barefoot, and he has three cigarettes left in the crushed pack in his jacket pocket. He lights one and inhales deeply to banish the stale taste in his mouth. It doesn’t help. There’s someone having sex in a nearby room, he can hear springs protesting and high pitched moans. He reaches for the needle, again.

 

*

_The air is pushed from his lungs in shallow pants that match every thrust from Steve’s hips. They’re both sweaty and Bucky curls up to catch the drop that runs down Steve’s temple with the flat of his tongue. He whines when the soldier’s fingers flex on his thigh and his cock twitches inside him._

_“Bucky…” Steve’s voice is wrecked and Bucky is torn between hanging onto the anticipation a little longer and giving into those pleading eyes. He gives in. He always gives in._

_“Come on, sweetheart…” he keens when Steve’s artist’s fingers wrap around his weeping cock. Now their voices match; wrecked and desperate. “Fuck me, Stevie… please …need you so fucking much.” his heart races in time with the smack of flesh on flesh, the squeak of the springs under their weight._

_Steve lets go of Bucky’s thigh to hook it over his hip and his hand slaps down near Bucky’s head as he leans down. His other hand strokes with a tight grip as his hips work to drive Bucky insane. When the head of his cock hits that spot that makes them both see stars Bucky doesn’t even know if the sounds he makes are human anymore. Steve catches his gaze and that’s it. Bucky drowns. His cries of release are supped from his lips by Steve’s mouth and three seconds later Steve follows with his lips against the hollow of Bucky’s throat. His body tenses then quakes, they ride it out together. Like they do everything else._

iv.

 

It’s been two hundred and ninety five days.

He runs into Sam at the 7-Eleven on Empire Boulevard, down from Rogers Avenue. He hates that street. His sunglasses tint everything dark and shield his hungover eyes from the nasty sun. He just wanted a drink and some smokes. Why does God hate him, he wonders. He wishes for the hoodie he’d opted not to wear, because it was too hot for a jacket in July, just to hide the track marks and the way his hands shake. But his wishes mean shit to the universe these days.

“Bucky?” Sam had to do a double take. Bucky wonders how bad he looks. He avoids mirrors.

“Hey,” he says flatly. He likes Sam, but has no use for conversation. The only person he wants to talk to isn’t there.

 “How are you, man? It’s been a while!” Sam smiles at him and Bucky shrugs, fingers fidgeting with the cardboard of his six pack of beer.

“I’m good,” he doesn’t care that Sam can see right through his lie.

“Good, good. You’re coming to Stark’s thing today, right?”

He shakes his head, his muscles tensing and his heart beginning to drum against its cage. Sam looks disappointed. Bucky feels a drop of sweat roll down the back of his neck.

“Ah, you should. We’d all like to see you. Darcy’s still pouting ‘cause you haven’t sent her any cat videos in months.”

“I… I better not. I’ve got stuff to do,” he lies again. Just another mark on his ticket to Hell.

“Well, we miss you so that sucks,” his phone chirps and Bucky breathes a small sigh of relief. Sam checks it before looking back to Bucky. “I better go, they roped me into decorating and I’m running late. It was good to see you. Don’t be a stranger!” He drops a friendly hand onto Bucky’s shoulder and it takes all of his energy not to flinch away from the contact.

“See ya,” Bucky says and waits till Sam is outside before he goes up to the register. When he steps out onto the sidewalk the heat presses against him like a suffocating dream you can’t wake up from. It doesn’t bother him, he’s used to that feeling now.

He doesn’t go back to their empty apartment. Instead he slips into the dirty shade of buildings, stalks down stinking alleyways, and up a flight of stairs in a rundown shithole. He shares his beer and pretends that he’s comfortable, that he belongs there. He pays for his next hit with the money he got from pawning a fancy, ridiculous watch Tony gave Steve for his birthday.

Three hours later when he’s lit and laying back on that lumpy couch he swears he hears someone singing ‘Happy Birthday’ when he closes his eyes.

 

*

 

_“…HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOOOOOOOU!”_

_Darcy claps excitedly startling the dog and sending him skittering behind Steve’s legs and everyone laughs watching Steve attempt to blow out his trick candles. Pepper had warned them against putting thirty candles on one cake so Natasha had been bribed by Barton to get those instead. And it was a success because Steve was starting to huff like a tired child who just wanted his sugar fix._

_“Alright, cut the birthday boy some slack,” Bucky glared at Clint and motioned to the spectacle before bracing a hand on Steve’s hip to still him so he could bend down and get the puppy. He rolled his eyes at the smirk that met him when he straightened with the little black lab licking his chin. Maybe getting them a dog had been a bad idea if it was going to ruin his rep._

_Tony’s ‘Finally!’ was followed by the sound of Natasha’s camera shutter. Bucky just sighed confused as to how he ended up with these idiots as his friends. Steve cooed at the animal as Pepper and Darcy took to cutting the cake and Bucky couldn’t help but get hearts in his eyes at the big dumb lug. Maybe the puppy hadn’t been a bad idea after all._

_After everyone had gone home Bucky curled up with Steve (and their new addition) on the couch to watch TV. He couldn’t stop watching Steve smile at the thing, letting him chew on his fingers, and growling playfully. Yeah, the puddle of pee he’d stepped in earlier had been worth it._

_“You gonna name him any time soon?”_

_Steve glanced up at him and shrugged, “I haven’t thought about it, really.”_

_“How about Stark so when he’s bad I get the satisfaction of cussing him?” Steve’s laugh fills Bucky’s head._

_“Nah, he’d think it was because we like him or something.”_

_“True… Howard?” Bucky asked innocently._

_“You’re cruel.”_

_“Fine, fine. I give up,” he said curling into Steve’s side watching the puppy get comfortable on Steve’s lap, his energy winding down with a snuffle into the blonde’s hand._

_“Hey, what about Gansey?” Steve turned imploring eyes to Bucky who just crossed his own and groaned letting his head drop onto Steve’s shoulder._

_“That’s it, you’re not allowed to read anymore. I’m serious, no more trips to the bookstore with Darcy.”_

_“You like it?”_

_“He’s your dog.”_

_“Gansey Barnes… it has a nice ring to it.”_

_“…I guess.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“Me or Gansey, there?”_

_“Both of you. But I love you more,” Steve rested his cheek atop Bucky’s head with a content sigh. It was silent for a few beats before Steve whispered, “Thanks for today.”_

_“I love you, too,” was Bucky’s quiet reply._

v.

 

It’s been three hundred and sixty four days.

He sits on their couch, the only sounds are from the street outside, the batteries in all the clocks having given out months ago. The curtains are drawn and there are water rings on the coffee table. He sits on their couch, bare feet flat on the floor and beer neck held loosely between two fingers. The smoke from his last cigarette swirls around his head. He’d be worried about how blurry his vision is but he isn’t. His right arm still stings from the last needle an hour ago. His skin always stings and itches now, stretched taut across his bones as it is. He doesn’t care.

The bottle slips from his fingers and clangs dully against the rug. He feels like he’s underwater as he moves, his foot is wet now. Feeling for the bottle that’s rolled under the couch he jerks back when his fingers come into contact with paper instead. Laughing humorlessly at himself he heaves up, staggering till the world remains still and clumsily nudges the couch back. He stares at the open journal as if it were a bomb with a countdown. He snatches it up and falls gracelessly back onto the couch anyway.

The corners of one side are damp from his rogue beer. The pages are full of sketches that make it harder to breathe, and see. He doesn’t realize that he’s crying, hadn’t known that he was capable still. Steve’s thoughts are emblazoned across every page, his corny jokes with pictures to match, little pieces of his job, notes and coordinates scritched tightly into the margins. Bucky’s face, asleep, laughing, scowling, his tattooed shoulder sketched out lovingly.

He drags in a lungful of oxygen with a sob.

He makes himself flip slowly through every last page. When he gets to the end he laughs out loud and it’s an ugly sound. Of course. Of fucking course Steve would. There on the back of the last page is a note, it’s addressed to him.

 

_‘Bucky,_

_I love you, you know that, right? Even though we get angry and yell and say stupid things, it doesn’t change that. Last night I was stupid and I shouldn’t have been so bullheaded. I know you told me to get out but I’d rather just sleep out here if it’s all the same. I don’t like being away from you. Jesus, that sounds clingy. But anyway, I’m sorry, Buck. I won’t go on that mission if you’re that worried. I’ll call Natasha in the morning. There, now if you snoop again at least you’ll find something useful._

_Till the end of the line._

_-Steve’_

 

He closes the book and lays it reverently on his lap. Trembling fingers wipe at his damp face before he picks up his phone from the side table. Scrolling through his contacts it takes him a minute to find Natasha’s number. It takes him even longer to type out his message. Steve couldn’t get out of that mission and Bucky had had an excellent reason to be worried. Steve hadn’t come back home. Bucky had stopped worrying about everything then. He reaches for his needle.

Ten minutes later and his left arm stings worse than his right had. He figures he has a couple minutes so he gets comfortable. Steve had picked out the couch because it was long enough and wide enough to fit both of them. Besides their bed, it had been his favorite spot in the house. Bucky didn’t care because as far as he was concerned they could live in a cardboard box and it would be home. As long as Steve was with him.

He’d never really understood what they meant by ‘home isn’t a place’ until he met Steve. He gets it now. And he gets what Steve meant about not liking being away from him. He doesn’t like it either. In fact he despises it. Everything is too empty without Steve. _He_ is too hollow without him. And he tried, but nothing would ease that constant ache. Doesn’t matter how high he is, Steve’s absence is a blaring neon sign that refuses to blink out. He’s isolated himself with only his ghosts to keep him company. The ghost of Steve’s laugh, Steve’s sleepy eyes in the morning, Steve’s warmth… He’s haunted here and he just wants to go _home_.

He sends the text to Natasha at three minutes past six in the evening. It says; _‘I’m sorry for being an ass,_ дорогая _.’_ He knows she’ll go on alert at his use of Russian, but it’s a necessary evil. She’ll forgive him one day. He puts his phone on the coffee table then settles back with Steve’s journal cradled to his chest like an infant.

At eleven minutes past six in the evening Bucky sits on their couch and closes his eyes.

 

vi.

 

It’s been three hundred and sixty five days and Bucky is finally home again.

 

_‘It’s easier to die, love, than to never see you again.’_

 

  _fin._

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so, so sorry... I had this idea brainstorming with my Natalia a while back after I discovered Tove Lo's 'Habits' and it's been rattling around in my head for months. Then I made the massive mistake watching Stucky videos and came across [this](https://youtu.be/TKNqp2fYhpE) and I was doomed.   
> P.S. A million kudos to that vidder 'cause I love their videos. <3  
> Oh! One more thing, the title is from Sebastian's speech in 'The Architect' as Martin Waters. And the last line is a lyric from Crooked Fingers' 'All The Young Thugs'.  
> Thanks for reading, hope I didn't scar you too much. ;)


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